Assembling a PC - from lowest to highest budget

Lately, I've been quite obsessed with assembling a Gaming PC, mainly because my laptop (a Compaq CQ45 Core2Duo with 3GB RAM and 256MB dedicated graphics) is about to die soon.

Also, another teeny weeny reason is that ..
SKYRIM HAS RELEASED!

Anyway, whenever I'm not working or eating or sleeping, all I do is browse the World Wide Web for PC Assembling guides. That is when I came across a link which has a detailed chart on what hardware to use for assembling the best PC for any budget. Of course, I cannot afford the last two configurations, yet. But some of you might. So here's the link.

http://i1002.photobucket.com/albums/af150/The_FalconO6/CurrentLogicalPCBuyingGuide/Guide.png

Thank me.

Everybody's changing and I don't feel the same

Warning - This is a rant.

This year was sad. Some friends just moved far, far away. The trouble is, I don't know if it's something I did or if they just got bored. What I find more scary is that everyone seems to be growing up really fast. Jobs, partners, aims, 5 year plans, etc. If the Kids are All Right, then why the sudden race? I can never get my head around it. 

I even tried planning a trip with one of them. Didn't work. Sudden exams are the universe's WMDs which annihilate my happiness this time. I realized I upset this lovely friend. And now we are suddenly distant.

All of us, have had our own things going on - work, studies, struggles, families... but now, it seems to be too visible. The other day, one of them told me - "What the hell are you doing with your life?". I had no answer. How does anyone answer that? I can't bore others with my "plans".

Barney Stinson was right. When he's feeling down, he becomes more "awesome". I want that power.

I'll try my hand at juggling, I think.

Thanks for listening.

Headphones, Food and People - A walk through Old Delhi

Deep fried fun.

Shaahi Tukda - A royal piece indeed.

Don't be fooled by the crowd - they give you way more space than rest of Delhi

Cool Topis.

A starving belly, a walk through one of the best yet cheap gourmet lanes in town at a time of the day when the locals had just broken their fast, coupled with some of my favourite music arranged in an arcane playlist, and the best bit – shuffle mode. This, I tell you, is the life. So when The Shins started strumming their way into simplistic glory on New Slang, I found myself walking just like the guy in the video, clueless about what to dig into as an appetizer. (The next time someone says soup I’m gonna souperkick his derriere to Manchuria). Like a true Bengali, I start with a sweet dish – pretty sure I’m gonna end my feast with another. The Shaahi Tukda is made from specially baked sweet bread, mixed with all kinds of dry fruits topped with a not-too-sweet-but-fat layer of dry cream and a plate costs you ten rupees. I was happy. ‘Twas short lived as the track changed to Phil Collins’ Another day in paradise. I was suddenly conscious of the three street urchins staring at me from the other side of the narrow lane. Always had this argument with myself whether I should give in to the pleas of street dwellers, or walk on out to discourage the culture of begging for alms.

 Pressed NEXT and walked on. (sneer at my apathy, yes)

 Mohammed by Dandy Warhols helps me forcefully distract myself from such random arguments. My shallow heart aligns its beats with the haunting bass intro of this beautiful song...”I only wanna do the right thing, but all these demons pass my side...” So I find this entrance to a dargah, and sit out the remainder of the song. Listen to it, and you’ll kind of have an idea why.
The track changes to Seven Seas by Antix. As much as I love their work, I couldn’t help noticing after two minutes, that my steps were matching up with the exact beat of the song. And that’s when I realized, it’s about time I changed the track. It’s physically impossible to keep up steps while walking with the beat of a trance number. You’ll eventually end up running like they do in the Roadrunner Show. Classic rock in the form of The Doors comes to my rescue. I was literally shadow singing to the beef kabaabs and tikkis as they were being roasted on the grill. What else can you do with a song like Light My Fire? Do not answer, it was rhetorical. The kabaabs and tikkis complimented each other like the drums and keyboards did in that amazing instrumental break. The plan of taking my own sweet time while eating food of such great quality takes no time to fail. Picture Homer Simpson gobbling a beef steak. I was as dedicated. That’s it, appetizers were over. Not that I had enough space for a full meal from here on, but hey, I do not loiter around in Old Delhi every other day, do I?

Lord of the Rings 

Stepping into a small restaurant called Sultan Hotel, I head straight for the small table upstairs under a small but strong wall fan. I look for someone to help me place my order. Abdul, a boy of about fourteen, bounces up the stairs. I ask for two tandoori rotis, a beef korma, and nihari. He seems more intrigued by the shape of my head, as if he’s planning a PhD, on the dents* up there in my skull. I repeat my order. He jumps out and hops back in exactly in a minute with the food. The Doors give way to Chet baker, although I doubt if, while writing My Funny Valentine he had the same look in his eyes, as I did while drooling over the juicy meat pieces. As if I cared... One slow track follows another, and this time it’s Radiohead with Talk show host. This is a true testament to the greatness of food over here in this part of Delhi – even my favourite band in the world cannot distract me from my mission. Two more rotis and Pearl Jam’s Nothingman have passed, and I’m suppressing burps trying to convince myself and there’s more space left. Some other day maybe - No, not maybe - some other day for sure. 

And now I’m thirsty. It’s sort of hard to spot your favourite lassi shop in a crowded market, but frankly, Smashing Pumpkins’ 1979 animated my monologue of bumps and grunts and anglicized Urdu apologies. I finally find it, order a big glass of sweet lassi and end it with a very satiated “Aaaahhh” as if I was the third band member Wham! never had. Bob Marley sings Coming in from the cold. Ok, this might not mean a lot to most people, but to me, some of my close friends and lots of people I’ve met in Kasol, Himachal Pradesh, Mr. Marley is Lord Almighty. The night was ending quite well. I was in two minds whether to take a rickshaw back to the subway, or just walk. I decide to walk as the track changes to Born Slippy by Underworld made famous by the closing scenes in Trainspotting. I smile and wonder if my music phone has a mind of its own. I’m sure it does when I enter the train. Radiohead is back again with Fake Plastic Trees.


*Ah yes, the dents on my skull - My birth involved forceps. And, someone dropped me right after I was born. My head hit the gurney. Now, there's a dent on my head.

Photos by - Tracy Ghale (https://www.facebook.com/tracy.ghale)

gangi frá engill

Never knew I'd be such a drama queen. The news was something I had been expecting for some time now. But then again, you know, there's always this hope... that may be things are not as bad as your fears tell you. The good thing is, I've run out of fears now.

I needed to run.

Just got out of the room and made my way to the main road. finished a smoke by the time I reached Kusum Pahari Slum. The road from here to DLF Vasant Kunj was a straight mile stretch. There were no cars on the road. The traffic lights were red though. Weird.

I ran.


For drama's sake, I dashed as the lights turned green. I wasn't expecting a great pick up. May be I wasn't as heavy as I thought I was. The thing with running too fast is, you seem to lose your balance if you try to slow down too soon. I was surprised my head was filled with useless info such as this when all I actually wanted to do was just run and let all the bullshit out. part of me was angry too. at myself.

I had barely managed to reach the turning that led to the mall when I looked up to the streetlights. closing my eyes was a stupid idea. I tripped on the pavement and fell. No bruises. Was I tough? I didn't feel tough. i didn't bother getting up. Breathing was not easy. I never had weird horse-like noises come out of me before this. I wasn't dying, that would have been too pathetic.

A car zoomed past. Someone threw a plastic bottle at me from the inside. I picked it up and somehow managed to throw it back. the car stopped. I didn't move. A girl stepped out. We looked at each other. I hadn't yet realized my forehead was bleeding. She went back in and drove away. A dog paid attention to me. i was momentarily happy. I waited for it to wag its tail or something. Bastard just sniffed the bottle and left. i tried whistling for attention. I didn't know how to whistle.

I wanted to pass out. I would have been successful too, had the weather not been so awesome. what were the odds! fucken Delhi summers!! shitty things can happen on good nights.

They say you can't have what you want unless you accept what you are. I hope it's true for letting go as well. I was a chaser obsessed with chasing the impossible. Now I will try to let go. May be.


I took an auto back home.  


Song fo da moment (i want to be able to talk like this) - Lunatic Calm - Leave You Far Behind

Do something pretty while you can.

This photo defines my four months in Guwahati.

The long vacation, which gets longer every time I book my return ticket, seems to be coming to an end. I feel like in some indie home-coming flick; nothing actually has happened, and that's where all the joys and sorrows seem to be.

December saw me trying to push a cause and 'make things happen' to something that could very well do without such external forces. The lesson that came out of it - when someone needs space, the dimensions of said space are such that it is 5'7" tall and weighs roughly 70 kilos. A lesson learnt well. But fate has always been a two-faced bitch. Now I had space too - to think, to plan. We sylhetis plan a lot. A plan which was based on a time-line that ends on 11.11.11. So, I told myself, I'd work my bum off and finally say goodbye to this cruel world on the set date. Hell Yeah!

January made me realize what a stupid plan* that was. Much more important things were happening and I learnt that I could sleep better, if only I'd resign to the truth that I'm NOT the hero of this story. 'Sleeping better' should always be the ultimate goal. This indie-flick side character, you could say, grew up a little with such little bits of wisdom. The space needed some respect and could not be ignored. The need for such a thing could not be the giant invisible elephant in the room anymore. Move on. End of Chapter One.

Whatever.

This Dude sleeps really well, I think.

February, as it fades into March. New Plan. Yes, roll your eyes bitches! I have to write a lot. Need to finish the script, the book of short stories that will never get published, while leading a dual life as a content (read far-from-content) writer who has to write about everything from hedge funds to men's thongs. The money has to come. One of the goals for which I need the money is to fund the upbringing of my own Pig in Pami's farm. (That's one of HER plans). Maybe one day, it'll go to college. Like any bad indie film where random things happen to people who have nothing to do with the continuation of the plot, I was witness to a bomb blast when my friends were having a nice meal in another zip code.  Sadly, the blast wasn't big enough for me to realize how short and precious life is. (This is precisely why I need to grow up and learn how NOT to relate every random event to MY existence.). TIA - This Is Assam; bleh, whatevs I say.

Theme song for this post - We rule the school by Belle and Sebastian.

*the stupid plan still lives. It will happen. The dream lives. So does the longing to fill some spaces.

My very own lame Oh Boy moment... alone.

There must be something about weed and hyper consciousness. They say stoners think at a different level. True. What I did not know was, they also observe every unimportant detail with CSI like precision.

Smoked a big one, alone.

No, I generally share. But this time, the people I was about to share it with were dancing to some good music. And they were dancing well. The last thing the scene needed was me stepping on the floor with my "moves", which actually make Chandler Bing look like Michael Jackson. So, for everyone's sake, I decided to stay put on the mattress and roll one joint after another. It wasn't that anyone forced me to dance either; you see, my reputation precedes me, and my mates respect that. So once they left the room to drop off the ladies, I picked the biggest doobie of the lot, took out an apple from the fridge, put on some Armin Van Buuren (yes, trance and weed are cliched. Sue me) and had my very own party.

Was out in three minutes.

Came down to my room and restarted the The Godfather Part I movie which I was watching this afternoon. 'Twas then I had my Oh Boy moment. You see, Vito Corleone was just about to be ambushed by some other wiseguys outside a fruit stall. And then I saw it. Paused the movie and here's the screenshot - (don't be lazy, click on it, it grows in size)

The boxing promotion poster in the pic said Jake La Motta vs some guy. Jake La Motta was the main protagonist in Scorcese's 1980 movie, Raging Bull where Robert De Niro played him. And Robert De Niro also plays the young Vito Corleone in The Godfather II. How cool is that! Ok maybe not to you, but I was super excited and felt really important at having seen this.

You say I need a life? I say you need Blu-Ray.

Sunday Morning, or, How I Scare My Own People.

i sleep late. really late. Munirka village comes alive at 6:30AM - kids run to the local school, the caretakers of all buildings turn on the 'paani ka motors', the day job people come out to have bread omlettes and tea at Tripti Restruant (that's how they spell it here), the paper boy throws up the newspapers to the 4th/5th/6th floors with sniper-like precision, and landladies curse the sabjiwaala and then bitch about the north eastern people they have rented their rooms out to, the all white wearing landlords stand in their balconies and check out office going women from the strategic angle (as if that's not disturbing enough, some of them also burp in, what I think is the G-major and F#minor scale while pleasuring their eyes and rubbing their bellies), the guy who clears out the dustbins from my building accidently wakes up the the creepy old man who sleeps in a cot in the verandah and they have their customary MC/BC session.... these are the things that tell me that it's time I crash into the mattress.

But yesterday I was more hungry than other days. My work for the day was done but I just couldn't sleep. It was 5:15 in the morning and Munirka was still sleeping.

New Delhi has it's India Gate, Munirka Village has her Pal Dairy. A boon to cockroaches like I, and some call center people, it opens everyday at 5:30AM. All I had to do was wait for minutes. But I knew that staying in the room and watching episodes of Seinfeld wasn't possible with the stomach whining and growling more than George and Kramer* put together. So after almost eight years, i decided to go for a morning walk. The shop was eighty yards away from my room but,... umm... hunger amplifies distance. I stepped out, and it was still dark. But suddenly a familiar smell took over the entire scene. I couldn't recall what it was, but I had to know. A lady, about fifty or so, had just passed by, and I was sure it was her hair oil which triggered my curiosity. I finally had something to do till the shop pulled up its shutters.

I followed the lady. She was walking about twenty yards ahead, and stopping near every ground floor balcony and plucking flowers from the flower pots and putting them on a gold coloured vessel. Must be bengali, I said to myself. The fact that I did not know what that smell was, was killing me every second. It was too familiar to just ignore. Speeding up to her, and finally catching up, I asked in my politest voice which hair oil she used. She turned to me, slightly puzzled, and semi-shrieked in proper bengali-hindi - "O Ma, hum toh dor gaya tha!... Hair oil se kya hoga? Tum toh taakla ho." She told me to use castor oil for quick hair growth, and left the scene like a pickpocket leaves a crowded bus after the job's done.

I was speechless. And bald.
And I hadn't figured out what kind of hair-oil she used. I'd like to think it's a tie between Bajaj Almond and Keo Karpin. My aunts in Silchar used these, and hence the vague familiarity.

On the plus side, Pal Dairy had opened, right when I remembered I was hungry.

*George and Kramer are the best characters ever written for television. And Seinfeld is the best show.